


Questions Like Rain

by Shatterpath



Category: CSI: NY
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 23:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterpath/pseuds/Shatterpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Accidental friendships raise questions, but provide some answers too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I miraculously found out all my game information at: http://www.boston.com/sports/baseball/redsox/extras/2005_redsox_yankees/#july15
> 
> All info on Yankee Stadium came from Wikipedia.

++ Michael ++

 

(4-6-05)

 

It's an unseasonably gorgeous day in early April, peaceful and clear out, the mood only broken by a stadium full of benumbed Yankee fans. And it started out as such a nice day too…

 

Becoming a baseball fan, which is still a strong word for me, has been a gradual process.

 

A very gradual process. 

 

At least I fully understand the game now, which certainly helps my enjoyment, sporadic as it is. Even all these seasons later, I'm really here because Jamie and Jo enjoy this so. Even Lindsey has been fully indoctrinated into the extremes of team fanaticism. 

 

Which makes a day like today all the uglier. 

 

Long standing rivals, the Boston Red Sox, are beating the shit out of the hometown boys and the capacity crowd is stunned silent or wildly angry by turns. Frankly, the energy of the restless herd of humanity is making me nervous as hell.

 

Really, I should have expected it.

 

A run for snacks and the restrooms starts it, like pushing over the first domino in a long chain of them standing precariously on end. The concession line is the usual slow, milling crowd and the air is thick with human stink, warm beer and hot food. Taunts from the Sox fans sound out above the surly murmurings of the home crowd and my danger sense is peaking now. Thank the gods that Jamie is still near the bathrooms, waiting for Lindsey to come out, leaving the girls relatively safe for the moment.

 

That split second of inattention is all it takes.

 

In the time it takes to suck in a breath, even as my head whips around to track the hooligans, it happens. With a crushing impact that unpleasantly flashes me back to Snake-Eyes trying to cave in my skull, the elbow slams into the ridges of bone that protect my left eyesocket, violently rocking my head back on my shoulders.

 

Blackness and flashes of color dance across my vision and I cannot stop crashing back into the patrons behind me, the whole damn mass of us going down in a painful tangle. 

 

Training takes over and some sane part of myself makes a note to thank Ben and the Marine Corp for the reflexes.

 

Lashing out with a booted foot, I catch one brawling idiot in the knee, relishing his scream of agony. Rolling off of the bodies struggling beneath me, I try to stand; outraged by the shove that sends me to already abraded palms once more.

 

Bet that headbutt to the groin won't be a sensation he'll forget anytime soon.

 

A series of well-placed blows to kidneys and knees stops the chaos, the surrounding crowd both bemused and primed to explode once again. Only then can I shake off the pain in my head enough to look around for the girls.

 

Only to find them gone.

 

++ Jamie ++

 

As is common with Sentinels, things snowball quickly.

 

Lindsey steps out of the bathroom, normal as can be, when she stops suddenly, her body going very, very still. Instantly, I'm on full alert, knowing at least some of what is coming. The blonde head whips around, blue eyes flashing gold, as she homes in on whatever has triggered her instincts. 

 

With a mental apology to Michael, I tense to follow my partner as best I can, even as her skinny frame goes full-out cat and she vanishes like smoke into the crowd. This doesn't happen often, but it's been a fairly long time that Lindsey and I have been inseparable. My own instincts propel me along in the girl's wake, homing in on her like a magnet to iron.

 

With a snarl of rage, Lindsey jumps at the man, pushing aside the small boy weakly struggling in his big hands. Like some sort of nightmarish creature, the wild animal hiding within that unassuming pre-teen body leaves the man no chance, his shouts of anger and surprise quickly turning to screams as he falls beneath the onslaught. 

 

Gathering up the obviously terrified boy to my body, I warily reach out for my Sentinel, needing now to soothe her instincts.

 

"Lindsey! Linds!"

 

My shouts fall on deaf ears, but my will is stronger than hers, it has to be to control her when she gets like this, and the blows to the cowering man slow.

 

Unfortunately, not quickly enough as the stadium security guards arrive at a flat-out run.

 

Sigh. This is not going to be fun to try and explain.

 

++ Stella Bonasera ++

 

"This is still a strange revenge for the dog show," Mac deadpans and I slap his shoulder affectionately.

 

"At least it smells better," I sass and wince as the hulking brute next to me cheers and flails. Bad enough he's a Sox fan, but he's a pig too. "Well, sort of anyway."

 

Huffing in amusement, Mac settles in beside me to watch the disheartening and methodical slaughter of our home team. Really, this is completely depressing.

 

"They'll need us by the end of this game."

 

"Oh shut up."

 

It's deep in the fifth when the day truly unravels. It takes a moment to realize that Sal Mariano, one of the on-duty uniforms that I was chatting with earlier, is waving urgently from the steps nearby. Relieved that he has my attention, the gesturing doubles in intensity, a blatant 'get your ass over here.'

 

"Mac," I urge my friend and he instantly looks over. "We have to go."

 

Making our way through the crowded stands, we finally end up nearly tripping into Sal's arms. "Really sorry detectives," he says, clearly uncomfortable and uneasy, "but you're not gonna believe this, but we gotta what I think is a 10-34."

 

"An assault?" Mac clarifies and Sal nods eagerly even as he leads the way back up the concrete steps.

 

"Yeah, just over on the east side main concourse. A brawl broke out, which we can deal with, no problem, 'cept one guy didn't get back up again."

 

The crowd around the scene is tense and edgy, a mix of lookie-loos and hard-core sports fans, many of who just want access to the three concession booths currently being blocked. In house EMTs are checking over the double handful of bruised and battered vics. 

 

Everyone is studiously avoiding the very still figure in the middle of it all, the contours of the body obscured beneath black plastic trash bags.

 

"Told you this game was a killer," Mac teases and I can only roll my eyes and reach for my phone.

 

"Hey Danny. I need someone to run over two kits to Yankee Stadium, pronto."

 

++ Michael ++

 

The pain is excruciating, both a sharp, hot burn and a low, throbbing beat that matches my heart. Memories crowd close, the agony bulldozing my strong will.

 

A flash of shadows, burning red eyes, the flash of darkly carved wood. It's all my mind's eye can see, the glorious warm day with the crowds of baseball fans overwhelmed by the hellish night in that distant Chicago club.

 

"Hey, hey!"

 

A female's voice, not the growling lunatic that tried to kill me.

 

"You're okay; no one is going to hurt you. You're safe."

 

Something in her voice is soothing and, despite my inherent self-sufficiency, I cling to the aural lifeline thrown to me. Like a thick fog, the flashbacks and panic start to fade.

 

To reveal a pair of beautiful earthy green eyes.

 

For an insane moment, I almost think that Lee's found me, until my blurry vision registers that this woman is a complete stranger.

 

"Detective Stella Bonasera," she introduces herself quietly, the sudden roar of the crowd making the nauseating waves of pain peak higher.

 

"Lindsey," I gurgle helplessly through what feels like a mouthful of broken teeth. "Jamie. Gotta find them… Jo'll lose it…"

 

"What are their names? I'll have an announcement made over the PA system."

 

"Call Jo. Jo Polnia… Pol…"

 

Curse that woman of mine and her long-ass last name. I'm panicked over the girls being gone but I cannot force Jo's familial name through my aching mouth.

 

"Polniaczek," chimes in a blissfully familiar voice. "Hey Mag, I hardly recognized you under all that warpaint." I'm so grateful to realize that it's Mac that I could cry. Even the old, stupid nickname from my Marine Corps days is somehow soothing. "Don't try to talk too much; you're beat up pretty bad. Trust Stella, she's the best and I'll go get Jo myself."

 

With a squeeze to my knee, he's gone, leaving me with the stranger whose name seems vaguely familiar. But darkness is dancing at the corner of my consciousness and the urge to lie down and just sleep for the rest of my life is strong.

 

I know I have to fight it with everything I am.

 

"I'm with you, Michael. Just stay with me, okay?"

 

Her voice becomes my lifeline as she talks me through what's happening around me.

 

++ Jamie ++

 

Growing up a cop's kid, I know pretty much every man and woman in uniform in this entire city, no matter the size of it. With the stadium security guards at a loss of what to do with Lindsey and myself, except to watch us with wariness, I could cry when the cavalry arrives.

 

"Detective Taylor," I sob in relief, feeling Lindsey shift in my death grip around her and the little boy. 

 

"Hey, Little J, heard you got into some trouble," he soothes gently, brushing past the guards to kneel beside us. There have been times I hate the nickname the blue line gave me long before I could understand the words, but right now I'm thrilled to hear it. "And you have a new friend."

 

The boy squeezes in closer to me, whimpering in terror at this new stranger in his young life. Compressed between his little body and Lindsey's powerful one, I bear up with practice. "I think that guy over there grabbed my new pal here. Lindsey spotted him and gave chase, stopping him as best she could."

 

Considering what the pervert looks like, she stopped him quite effectively and Taylor's smirk says as much. With a quick word to the guards, the man is cuffed and the detective comes back over to me. 

 

I don't like the serious look in his eye.

 

"Listen, Little J, Michael's hurt pretty bad and we need to get your mom, ASAP."

 

And just like that, I am once again torn by my various obligations to the people in my life. My mother needs to know what's going on, but I can't leave Lindsey or this strange child. Fortunately, Taylor has picked up that the boy needs reassuring and is doing an admirable job of it. First, he gently explains who he is, handing over the gold badge to curious little hands.

 

Then I can focus my entire attention on my Sentinel, shivering and growling in my arms. Nuzzling the fine sunshine mane, I whisper reassuringly to her, stroking her arms to help ground her back into her own body. This will not be a pretty fallout when she is once more in complete control of herself and the memories of attacking that man fully sink in.

 

This will not be pretty at all.

 

++ Michael ++

 

Time passes in a haze of pain and swirls of red and black. At some point my new detective pal leaves me and there is a bumpy ride from gurney to ambulance to hospital. After more strange hands touch my aching head, deftly ignoring my weak attempts to defend myself, there is the prick of a needle and blissful relief swamps over me.

 

Voices blur together, just like they did the last time. The alien touches on my skin make my nerves jump painfully and I want to lash out, but I'm too weak and disoriented. Hospital smells certainly don't help, but at least they don't make things worse. 

 

There are x-rays, the machine humming ominously, and catscans, the sensors painful on my aching head. More strange voices talk at me, but I remain too rattled to really comprehend, until a blissfully familiar voice cuts through the dizzy chaos. 

 

"Oh, just leave her the fuck alone, you quacks! Jesus, Gracie, you really have to stop using your head as a weapon in the literal sense. You look like hell."

 

Tough guy or no tough guy, I can't stop the tears, the moisture strangely soothing to my wounded eyes. In an instant, my skull is cradled to a lean body, age having taken her from wiry to frail. "KC," I whisper, authentically heartfelt. 

 

Now her voice is quiet and utterly gentle. "Jo is with the girls and will be here soon. From what little I could get out of Mac on my way over here, it appears that Lindsey stopped some pervert from snatching a little boy." The pride in her grandniece warms me, somehow the pain of my small smile almost feeling good. "Beat the holy hell out of the guy before Jamie caught up to her. They have some cuts and bruises and Linds is rattled of course, but they'll be fine with some decompression time. Gabe wanted to come along, but I made him stay where he is. No sense in giving you too much stimulus right now."

 

Normally, KC is not the touchy-feeling type, but her gentle hands on my head and her heartbeat in my ear is viscerally soothing to me. Her words register on my synapses enough to ease my concern over my extended family and my absent lover, allowing me to relax at last.

 

++ Stella ++

 

It's an exhausting twelve hours to unravel the web of shit surrounding the seemingly random death during the Yankee Stadium brawl, but we finally pull it off. The vic's buddies finally crack under the threat of jailtime and the one that shoved the knife in his ribs is led away to be processed. 

 

Now, I'm left with another mystery. 

 

"What do you have there?" Mac asks me as he pushes through the door. So I turn to show him the thing, shocked when his eyes round almost comically. Now, Mac Taylor is not the sort to be overly demonstrative, so I'm understandably curious.

 

"I'll take it that this thing isn't some sort of really strange jewelry then?" I can't resist drawling, waggling the thing between my fingers. It's the size of a credit card, but three times as thick and plated in gold. The symbols from a deck of cards are carved in what I'll bet a month's pay is real ruby and some iridescently black opal on the long surfaces. Most curious are what appear to be small sensor pads across the gleaming surface and a tiny electronics jack of some sort on one thin edge. 

 

Mac's answer surprises me, as he pulls out his phone, gaze still on the strange card. "Hello Gabe, this is Detective Mac Taylor. Yes, that Mac. You too. I wanted to let you know that we have one of your ID cards, and by the look of it, it must be Michael's. Hang on, I'll check." His attention shifts to me and a gesture has me bemusedly flipping the card over so that he can see the larger spade there, surrounded by the smaller heart, club and diamond. "Yes, it has a white band around the spade. No, no, we'll return it ourselves. Gives us a chance to check in on her. It's my pleasure. You too. Bye."

 

Once more, I'm subject to that strange, level stare from my old friend. 

 

"You might want to put that away before someone sees it."

 

"Holy shit! Where the hell did you get that," Danny's voice suddenly breaks into the room and Mac shakes his head.

 

"Too late."

 

To my slightly icky amusement, Danny appears to be drooling like a dog in heat that's going to hump my leg any second now. "One of our vics dropped it," I explain, slipping the device into my pants pocket where it feels cool and foreign near my skin. Danny's eyes round in horror and Mac waves him down.

 

"Not the dead one."

 

"Jesus, Stel, you scared the hell outta me. This city wouldn't function right with one of the Archangels gone."

 

"Archangels?" I parrot uncertainly, completely and thoroughly confused. With a grin, Mac strips off his lab coat and gestures for me to proceed him out. 

 

"We'll be over at North Central checking in on said Archangel. Hold the fort down, won't you?"

 

"Sure thing, boss."

 

There's no mistaking the note of lusty longing in Danny's voice and Mac only smiles at my questioning stare. "I'll explain in the car."

 

++ Jo ++

 

Exhausted, I'm dozing in and out of consciousness, unable to relax in my present circumstances.

 

Last time this happened, I couldn't be there for Michael. I'll be damned to the darkest depths of hell if I let her chase me off this time. Not that she's tried.

 

'Course, she's also pretty much stoned on pain and drugs. 

 

KC and I have been tag-teaming keeping Michael awake just in case she has a concussion. Swollen and still, she isn't speaking, but will periodically squeeze our hands in acknowledgement. 

 

When the door opens up, I'm startled to see that it's not hospital personnel this time, but Taylor and Bonasera. 

 

"Evening," Taylor says quietly, flashing a small smile to my worried look. "Came by to check in on the punching bag."

 

I'm quietly thrilled that Michael does her damnest to curl her purpled hands into the classic 'fuck you' gesture. It gets a huff of a laugh out of Taylor and he moves closer to greet KC cordially. It's damn obvious that he goes back a ways with the two of them and I make a mental note of that. By the curious look on her face, so does Bonasera. 

 

"Polniaczek, right?" The attractive detective queries me, stepping closer, forcing me to straighten up and pay attention, despite the late hour.

 

"Yeah, Jo Polniaczek. And you're Stella Bonasera. I remember you from crime scenes over the years. Never really had a chance to interact with you personally though. Pleased ta meetcha even if the circumstances suck."

 

Yes, dammit, I'm rambling like an idiot and my accent is incoherently thick, but the woman merely smiles and shakes my offered hand, gesturing with her chin at the bed. "Is she okay?"

 

"Probably. There's some worry about a concussion, since this isn't the first time she's been nailed in the head, but so far everything seems to be okay."

 

"How are you doing?"

 

I've been so stressed that I haven't really examined my own feelings too closely. In the truest spirit of the thin blue line, Bonasera sits beside me to offer silent support.

 

It's a welcome respite.


	2. Chapter 2

++ Stella ++

 

(4-28-05)

 

"Wow," I breathe as the diversity of Long Island whips past the car. We're north of the Hamptons now, in parts of New York that I've never been in before. It's gorgeous here and I'm glad that Mac drove so that I can rubberneck like a proper tourist. 

 

Not quite a week ago, we had been surprised by a visit from the heavily bruised but healing Michael and a very relieved Jo. Their effusive thanks made me feel good, but a little awkward, as helping victims is just part of the job. With the nice visit came an invitation to join them at some big spring bash that the assured us is a yearly deal.

 

The location of said bash didn't really register at the time.

 

In truth, I'd filed away the death at Yankee Stadium and the strange meeting with the King of Spades away in my mental 'case closed' files and the visit had taken me off guard. But the two women were just too warm and friendly and, besides, Mac likes them. There are few better judges of character than him. Before getting involved with anyone else, I really need to do introductions and get Mac's two cents. Obviously I'm incapable of finding a man who's not some sort of nut case. It's a depressing thought and I do my best to shake it off and enjoy my rare day of R&R.

 

Deep in the isolated, quiet and opulent 'wilds' of north Suffolk County, we finally come to an intimidating wrought iron gate. There's an actual guard shack where a trio of tough guys keep an out for trouble with quiet competence. A quick check of our IDs against a hand-held computer and we're waved through to the estate beyond. I like it, with the landscape left just a bit wild, patches of forest and neatly trimmed lawns awakening from the long winter. 

 

The sprawling house, manor, whatever, sits regally in the middle of a massive cleared area, framed in the distance by trees and the sparkle of Long Island Sound.

 

"Nice crib," I comment wryly and Mac chuckles as he parks on the cobblestones and we step into the cool spring air.

 

++ Michael ++

 

I half expected the detectives to stand me up. So I'm pleasantly surprised when the two of them stride into the Great Room with that hard-won confidence that borders on arrogance. The best public servants get it and it's unbearably sexy. "Good to see you, detectives," I greet them. "These are two old friends of mine, Karen Taylor and Jane Pappas. These are Detectives Mac Taylor and Stella Bonasera."

 

Politely friendly, they all shake hands and Karen jumps up to get them something to drink. "Hard or virgin?" she asks politely and Jane shares a smirk with me. Mac shares a mind-sharing glance with Stella and then smiles.

 

"The hard stuff. We're off the clock for once and have no plans on leaving the grounds until Mag here throws us out."

 

"Mag?" Jane asks curiously, flashing me a look that tells me that I'm not getting out of this one. So I groan melodramatically and gesture with my glass at Mac.

 

"This jackass managed to weasel that story out of me, dammit, and I've never lived it down since."

 

Karen hands off a pair of frosty mint juleps to our guests before adding her own inquisitive and mischievous stare to Jane's. "And you're not 'fessing up why?"

 

"Because you'll be a pain in the ass, flyboy."

 

"Funny, leatherneck."

 

Even Stella chuckles at our playful snarking.

 

"They're right you know," I direct my attention to Stella, whose smile widens. "Eventually I'll confess the stupid story."

 

"So you might as well not go through the whole interrogation?" There's an almost feral amusement to this seasoned cop and I'm delighted to see that her personality runs deep.

 

"Alright, I'll tell, but only for you." Yes, it's a little flirtatious, but we'll all need to find out how far we can go with this stranger in our midst. This is a good a way to feel her out as any. "When I joined the Marines, yes I was Corp for eight years; my last name kept getting mauled."

 

"Which is?"

 

"la Magne. But when it's spelled out on your chest, it doesn't at all look how it sounds."

 

"Ah, I get it now. Very clever."

 

"Sure, for a bunch of trained gorillas," Karen zings me and I flip her the bird. Our combined laughter warms the room for a long moment.

 

"Thanks for the invitation, by the way," Stella says in the moment of quiet that follows our hilarity. "It's nice to get out of the city."

 

"Before you ask," I break in with a smile, "I wanted you here because you seem interesting and Mac needs to get out of the dirty apple at least a few times a decade."

 

"I suppose it was time for me to drag myself out here and see your rack," the man chuckles and raises a glass to me, getting the same in return.

 

"Are you suitably impressed?"

 

"The commute must be a bear."

 

And once again, we laugh together.

 

++ Stella ++

 

They're a fascinating trio of women, so very different, but with such strong bonds between them. For nearly an hour now we've all been chatting and I've learned a lot about them. 

 

But there are things that they are avoiding talking about in my presence.

 

Oh, most wouldn't notice, but I'm trained to notice these sorts of things. The weirdest part is that I'm convinced that Mac knows about what lies unspoken. It has to do with something that bonds them aside from friendship and business. 

 

"You have questions," Karen suddenly says, those startling emerald-green eyes resting heavily on me. She's a big tiger of a woman, all playful and dangerous felinity. "About why we seem to be glossing over things."

 

It's an astute observation and I don't like being that transparent. A gentle smirk ghosts over Karen's face as she slouches even deeper into the comfy couch she shares with Jane.

 

"Of course I do. How could I not? It's in my blood."

 

"Excellent answer. Well, face cards, care to field this one? You do outrank me, after all."

 

"Not really, Joker," Jane teases, but relents at my obvious confusion. "We all belong to an organization that Mac obviously knows of, but you do not."

 

My accusing glare at my old pal earns a gesture of surrender and a barely hidden smirk.

 

"Okay, that's fair, but it's obviously more than just a business venture. Though, judging by these digs, you're certainly successful enough."

 

Someone back in the dark recesses of human memory once said, 'be careful what you wish for.' As the three friends begin to fill me in on some of what I've been missing, I realize that the expression is so very true.

 

It's going to be a very strange day.

 

++ Karen ++

 

"But I just can't see the point of it!" Stella nearly wails; irritated with the conversation that has started to go over ground already covered. 

 

"I know," I soothe as best I can, using a version of my 'dad' voice that hopefully won't ruffle her psychological feathers. "Let's try a different tactic. What separates you from the perpetrators you hunt down?"

 

That makes her stop and think, cooling the fiery temper that matches her Italian name. I do so love smart women…

 

"We enforce society's rules," she murmurs, at least partial comprehension spreading over her frustrated expression. "And you stretch them."

 

"Exactly. But we also have very, very strict rules of our own."

 

"Very," Jane echoes adamantly and Michael nods.

 

"So what's the difference between you and the dangerous perverts?"

 

It's a great question, and one I can answer definitively. "Rules. The golden and utterly unbreakable rule is about consensuality." I have her full attention now, the earthy green eyes that remind me of my wife and Lee both, affixed firmly on my own. "All parties must be able to consent to all parties involved. That's the core of what is our niche as sex workers, though the term means different things to us than classic sex workers."

 

"At least some of the time," Jane chuckles.

 

"Ah ah," I chide, "no confusing the issue at hand. Now, the unbreakable rule of consent can and is and should be broken down into clearer issues. No kids or underage and no animals are the obvious ones, because neither children nor mute animals can give clear consent."

 

That sharp detective brain is whipping along at warp speed as she visibly processes. "And if the rules are broken?"

 

Michael answers for us, her tone hard and cold as glass. "Then we will be the first ones to start the process of prosecution."

 

++ Michael ++

 

It's a lot to take in and Stella is showing a bit of the strain. So I decide to take an easier track with her. "Did you know Detective Olivia Benson?"

 

Startled, Stella thinks for a long moment. "The name sounds familiar."

 

"She was on Special Victims Unit."

 

Now she's nodding, clearer recognition in the green eyes.

 

"She works with another of us in the same position of power." That statement definitely startles Stella and I continue. "She had a tough time with the power play in some fetish circles and it came down to a fight."

 

"Man, that was some temper," Karen marvels with relish. 

 

"Down girl," I chide affectionately and once more Stella jumps in with that almost belligerent adamancy. 

 

"Now, you talk of a 'wife' with obvious adoration, but you drool like a college sophomore. What about fidelity and all of that?"

 

"Consensuality," Karen answers easily. "I would never dream of doing more than admiring another woman without thoroughly discussing the matter with Darya. And that's about respect and promises made and kept."

 

"That's it? It's really that simple?"

 

"It can be. Some can't do it, Stella. But there's a delicious freedom in being able to act like an adult who can make her own damn choices, despite what society wants us to do."

 

"Amen," Jane respectfully adds and I nod along.

 

++ Stella ++

 

Part of me is satisfied with what they are telling me. Part of me wants to worry it like a rabid terrier. 

 

"Who can't turn off, now?" Mac teases me and I can't even muster a glare.

 

"It's not easy to step away from what you do, we understand," Karen adds gently and with some real sympathy. 

 

"Hell, we've built our own subculture on it," Jane laughs, breaking up the seriousness of the moment.

 

As though conjured up by our laughter, a figure appears at the threshold to the room, sleepily rubbing her eyes. She's an attractive woman, petite and curvaceous with an expansive reddish mane. "Sounds like I'm missing the fun," she yawns and toddles in, looking for all the world like a drowsy toddler.

 

"Hey babe," Karen purrs as the woman collapses none too gently into her tall frame and curls up comfortably. "How was your nap?"

 

There's only a wordless hum of acknowledgement as she once more slips into sleep against Karen's body. We all chuckle gently and Jane stands to steal the blanket that rests on the chair behind Mac and drape it around the sleeping woman. 

 

"That reminds me," Jane muses as she straightens up. "I should give Mel a call and check in. I'll be right back."

 

"Give woman and clan our love," Karen calls out after her, uncaring of the effect her raised voice might have on the figure sleeping on her. Which is obviously nothing.

 

"Yes, of the all the people that run our organizations, only one is truly straight," Michael suddenly says and it takes me a moment to register the words. "That started with our mentors."

 

"We needed a safe place to belong," Karen chimes in quietly and my attention shifts to her. "It's not easy to be an outcast from much of society for something you cannot control."

 

++ Michael ++

 

It's been fascinating to watch Stella throughout all of this. For a seasoned cop, the woman can have a lousy poker face. Once again her eyes shift to track the flow of conversation as Mac suddenly jumps in. "Wait, I know about KC," his sheepish look makes Karen and I snicker, "but who is in the younger face cards?"

 

"Salix," I tell him, amused at his blank look. "King of Diamonds. The one with all the piercings." Recognition floods over his face.

 

"With the hulking sidekick that looks like the business end of an antipersonnel grenade, right?"

 

It's certainly a unique description of Puppy's many piercings, but not an inaccurate one. "Good memory."

 

"Cop," Mac says in concert with Karen and he looks at her, mildly startled.

 

"I live with one, sort of," she shrugs and smiles. "One doesn't live around _Bahbas_ and the dogs without picking up on some of that."

 

Yep, Stella did indeed visibly startle at the Greek word falling from Karen's lips. "( _You speak Greek?_ )"

 

I don't know what she just said, but Karen holds up two fingers with a small space between and grins. "( _Little bit._ ) Art, better known as _Bahbas_ , is basically the other 'husband' of my strange extended family and speaks like twelve freakin' languages. It's nuts. All the kids in the house speak both Greek and Spanish near fluently because she's made sure they're a diverse bunch. And my wife here comes from your same lovely gene pool, Bonasera."

 

Obviously, Stella is impressed by the rolling, exotic way Karen purrs out her last name.

 

"And you want to make sure that the kids aren't swearing without your knowledge," I add dryly.

 

++ Darya ++

 

"Yeah, but how do you know?"

 

The woman's voice is unfamiliar, but not the rolling chuckle beneath my ear. On the heels of Karen's delicious laugh, is her voice. "The same way you apparently know. Though I have far better evidence than you do, I'll bet." The comment might sound confrontational, if she hadn't said it so playfully. 

 

"Meaning?" Says the strange voice and I finally blink fully awake to peek over at the two strangers in the room that I had barely noted before. 

 

"One thing my beloved mentor taught me, her name is Anastasia by the way, is to not limit myself with preconceived notions. Some of my more adept teachers were male, and not really my thing. Still it was a learning experience that I still find valuable. If nothing else, it reduced my shock value to nil. How valuable do you think that might be in a public service field?"

 

With a huffy sigh, the woman throws herself back into the couch to sulk, making her male friend chortle. Karen's kiss on my crown makes me tilt my head back to get a kiss for real, before I yawn in her face. "Feel better with some real sleep?" Nodding, I blink away more of the lingering drowsy fog before following the flick of the emerald green eyes. "These are friends of Michael's, detectives Stella Bonasera and Mac Taylor, no relation." She gets a round of chuckles for that. "This is my wife, Doctor Darya Farazell-Taylor." It's a sweet mistake that makes her flush lightly and go sheepish. "Sorry, Dare, I've just gotten used to Emily having both our names."

 

"It's sweet," I reassure her with another kiss and wearily climb to my feet to go shake hands with the detectives. "Pleased to meet you. Sounds like these mongrels have been getting all deep and philosophical on you."

 

Michael growls playfully and Jane yips as I shake hands and study these new companions. Mac has the kind of eyes you can trust and he makes me smile in sincere delight. And Stella has attitude and a sharp, almost confrontational intelligence that reminds me of Cabot. We exchange polite pleasantries before Michael speaks up. "You're the expert in the psyche among us. What makes a person gay?"

 

++ Stella ++

 

Darya is an even better verbal sparring partner then the others, matching me point for point and leaving me with holes in my theories. She's calm too, making me more confrontational.

 

"You'd have made a hell of a lawyer," I grumble, once more amusing the hell out of Mac and Darya ignores it.

 

"Do you know what the odds are that anyone is completely straight?" she is adamant now, sitting up on Karen's knees and not letting me duck away from her similar-colored gaze. "It's like two percent, seriously. The vast majority of us fall somewhere in that grey area in between. How close do you really think you are? Or Mac? Or me?"

 

All of this is uncomfortable as hell and I can only imagine having always felt this way, sexuality squashed down and villianized by the larger society. "It just feels so foreign."

 

Instantly, Darya gentles at my calmer surly tone. "Sure it does. Look, it's not an impossibility, nor does even a passing attraction have to redefine how you see yourself as a sexual entity."

 

Something in her tone makes me look more closely, even more curiously when Karen chuckles dirtily and Darya flushes in mysterious embarrassment. "Well, go on then," the towering redhead encourages, hugely amused at her partner's flustered state.

 

"Fine," Darya mutters, perfectly echoing my discomfort. "Until just a couple years ago, men were completely alien and icky to me."

 

"Then came Gabe," Michael laughs in delight, grinning warmly at her friend to take any sting from the tease.

 

"Yes, dammit, then I suddenly found myself mysteriously attracted to your handsome sidekick. It was like having the proverbial rug pulled out from under my feet. Truth be told, it completely panicked me for a very long time. I had never been attracted to a man, not any more than a passing curiosity."

 

Damn it, now she's gone and hit a nerve.

 

++ Karen ++

 

Stella's thawing now and I have to remember to thank her later for a far more entertaining and lively evening than I had been expecting when I volunteered to stay here with Fen. "You're a scientist," I divert the gathering's attention back to me, giving Darya a moment to gather her composure. "In a hands-on field that I've grown to know in passing, since I live in immediate proximity to multiple CSIs and FBI agents. So you need to formulate a way to prove the theory and test it."

 

Visibly startled, Stella stares like a laser at me. "Test a theory."

 

"Yep. And, conveniently, you have fallen in to a circle of new friends that can allow you perfectly safe freedom to do just that."

 

"Meaning?"

 

This time, Michael jumps in, hugely entertained by the whole thing. "We set you up on a date."

 

Jane, who has contented herself with being an observer for all this, laughs in delight. "And we know just the person to set you up with."

 

"Dace," we chorus together, cracking up over what the look on my little sis' face will be when she gets told all of this. Understandably, Stella looks a bit wary.

 

"Ignore these hyenas," Dare placates her and we quiet. "You should like Dace; she's about as diverse a personality as we're capable of producing as a species."

 

"And a hell of a lot of fun," Jane chimes in. "Used to be a cop too and her lovers are all CSIs, so she has some basics in common with you."

 

Abruptly, Michael's phone trills in what, ironically, is Dace's tone, a few bars of 'Good Stuff' from the B-52s. "Hey Punk," Michael greets Dace with my favorite nickname for her. "Sure thing. Yep. Okay, no problem, we'll get cooking right now. Okay, see you soon. Bye." Waving the phone at us, she grins, "that girl was always masterful with her timing. The rest of the clan is on their way back and hungry by the sounds of it."

 

++ Michael ++

 

The rest of the extended family's reentry is as dramatic as I expected. However, Catherine's skidding run, her smile wild and more than a little embarrassed, nearly has her ass over teakettle as she rounds the corner into the kitchen and dives at Karen.

 

"Hide me!" she squeaks, desperately trying to stifle hysterical giggles. Taken aback, Karen dances around in place as the smaller woman uses her as a human shield. Before any of us can ask questions, there is a riot of voices that signals the rest of the family.

 

"Catherine!" Dace thunders, a hint of actual irritation in her voice. "It's not like you can hide."

 

Emily arrives next, grabbing a bemused Karen's hand and looking guiltily amused. "Uncle Dace is mad."

 

A moment later we see why.

 

Something garishly colored, and sticky by the look of it, has been splashed from temple to bellybutton, ruining her clothes and leaving her looking like the floor of a carnival walkway. The twins, one dangling from her shirt and the other one foot, are nearly as filthy. Exasperated, Dace holds the quietly giggling girls out like live grenades. "You bought them the damn things, you clean them up."

 

"Weird day, huh?" I commiserate gently and Dace snorts before going to the sink to mop off as best she can.

 

"As usual, Katie got excited and I got to wear her snack. I love that girl, but she's like living with a wild animal. I just hope this stuff doesn't stain more than just my clothes."

 

Karen and Emily hasten to help while I smile at a baffled Mac and Stella. "The disaster twins you just saw are Katie and Sandy. I'm guessing the mess was some sort of garish drink or something."

 

"Snowcone."

 

"Ouch."

 

To preserve some semblance of dignity for my pal, I herd the detectives out of the kitchen to meet my family where they are mixed in with the crowd.

 

++ Stella ++

 

It's been a fascinating and bewildering evening, meeting the noisy crowd that has taken over Michael's formerly quiet house. Little Henri has decided that he likes me and is currently beginning to doze off against my body. His small weight feels good, stirring up all my maternal and protective urges. 

 

It's over an hour before the messy twins and their smaller caretaker return. Clad in flannel pajamas, the little girls zero in on their waiting dinners like heat-seeking missiles. But something odd happens when they stiffen in perfect tandem and their heads swing over to pin first Mac, then myself with laser blue eyes. How odd, they hadn't even seen us yet before somehow becoming aware of our presence.

 

Emily moves to wrap an arm over each of the toddler's shoulders and reassure them quietly. The older girl smiles prettily at Mac and I in some sort of apology for the twin's strange behavior.

 

"Astute children," Mac comments quietly and I nod slowly. The curiosity is set aside though as we're introduced to Catherine Willows and immediately settle in to make friends. 

 

"Sorry about that chaotic entrance," she chuckles as she settles onto the padded ottoman in the center of the couch arrangement and gratefully accepts a plate from Darya. "You're a lifesaver, Dare. The girls get so happy about new experiences that I couldn't resist the snowcones. Not one of my better parenting choices."

 

"Are they yours?" I ask curiously and she grins.

 

"Not biologically, but I'm their other parent in all the ways that matter."

 

Well-behaved now, the twins appear with Emily helping them balance their plates and plop down on the floor at Catherine's feet. She affectionately ruffles their platinum manes and makes a strange bird-like noise that they quickly return.

 

"So I hear that you're the one that Dace gets to woo," Catherine suddenly chortles and I am once more taken aback by these strange people. But my questions are diverted by a tall figure appearing at the entrance to the room. There's something liquid and almost animal feral in the way the woman moves. She's dressed in a tank top and drawstring pants, showing off an impressive blanket of botanical-themed tattoos completely encircling her right forearm and has a towel draped over her head and shoulders. 

 

"Hey Fen," she calls out, catching Michael's attention away from Charlotte. "I really hope you know a killer stylist."

 

We all gasp in horror when she yanks the towel away.

 

++ Dace ++

 

I do like a dramatic entrance and this will be a damn hard one to beat. My appearance is a bit shocking, faint streaks of blue and purple dyed into my hair and face where the snowcone syrup had lain on me for too long.

 

" _Theh mou_ ," Darya breaks the silence with the familiar epithet and everyone comes back to life. The sympathies, and better, the food, makes me feel better after the shock of stepping out of the shower to see what the food dye had done to me. Not to mention the affectionate annoyance at Karen and Jane for volunteering me to entertain one of Michael's friends. Like my week hasn't been busy enough!

 

Lucky for me, she's a looker. Not just that, but she meets my eyes squarely when Michael finally gets a chance to introduce us properly. Stella has a firm handshake, a wiry and curvaceous body and an open, sharply intelligent gaze in that memorable shade of earthy green that she shares with Darya and Lee. The riot of loose, silky curls are the same as Zo's but a rainbow of brunette from dark to near blonde. All and all, a stunning creature indeed.

 

"Pleased to meet you. They told me some about you."

 

"Oh did they?" Anything else I would have said evaporates as both she and Mac jump and instantly go for their belts to whip out buzzing pagers. No one needs to explain the instant urgency in them and I smile. "Go on. I'll call you tomorrow and make a time to pick you up."

 

"Thanks. I'll keep an ear out. Good night. Come on Mac! I hope you're sober enough to drive."

 

And they are gone, leaving a sympathetic quiet in their wake.

 

"Bummer," I sympathize and Fen comes over to put a hand on my arm.

 

"I'll give them a call tomorrow and check in on them. You're not headed home for a few days, right?"

 

"Yep."

 

"Okay. Now, let me see if I can track down someone to fix that mess on your head."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the inspiration Lil! It's not often a writer gets such a wonderful set of dialog! 
> 
> As taken from an actual IM conversation:  
> [22:06] cuspofqueens: The gang's at the bar, wants Stella to join them, and she drags Dace along (kicking and screaming, because it's SOOOO hard), both of them still dressed up.   
> [22:06] cuspofqueens: "No, Danny, I cannot come drinking with you. I have company."  
> [22:07] cuspofqueens: "What, like a date? Bring 'im along. We won't bite."  
> [22:07] shatterpath: lol  
> [22:07] cuspofqueens: *Stella eyes Dace, who's listening with amusement* "YOU won't bite, but I make no promises on this end. Give us twenty."  
> [22:08] shatterpath: lol  
> [22:08] shatterpath: normally, dace would say something like that, but she's treating this date STRICTLY pg rating  
> [22:08] shatterpath: as far as she knows, this is an experiment for the friend of a friend  
> [22:08] shatterpath: and gives her a chance to hang out with a gorgeous stranger  
> [22:08] cuspofqueens: STELLA would say it, because Dace amuses and kind of unnerves her.

 

++ Stella ++

 

(4-30-05)

 

"There are days I hate this city," rasps up from my chest hoarsely and Danny only grunts in agreement. The phone call that started this exhausting marathon came in after I had already been awake for eighteen hours.

 

More than thirty-six more hours have passed since then and I've moved past exhausted and I'm slipping towards slap-happy. Thankfully, Danny bossily ran me off to nap in the car and I feel moderately sane once more with a few hours of sleep under my belt. In a few minutes, when I no longer need a second set of hands, I will do the same to him. 

 

The 'emergency' turned out to be a test of the city-wide emergency response, an exercise we all take even more seriously after 9-11. Then the violence started, like the movement of service personnel sparked temporary insanity in the populace. Somehow it still all feels more than coincidental and every CSI hopes we're wrong about that. 

 

"So how'd the party at the Archangel's go?"

 

Yes, he really did just ask that. At least my askance look sort of cows the boy, even though that smirk refuses to go away completely. "The whole lot of them are very nice."

 

"Nice?"

 

"Yes, Danny, nice. It was drinks and conversation and one of the more pleasant evenings I've had in a very long time."

 

Before either of us can say more, my phone buzzes and I gratefully step away to strip off the gloves and answer it. "Bonasera."

 

"Hey detective," purrs Michael's distinctive voice over the line. "I see that the city went insane. Still busy?"

 

"As hell," I sigh.

 

"Should I still send Dace your way?"

 

In truth, I've been too busy to even remember details of my night in the Hamptons and the memory of my planned 'date' floods back. "Umm…"

 

The woman's laughter isn't feigned and I can't help but smile sheepishly. "It's your decision, busy lady, but you won't regret it if you say yes."

 

Really, I have nothing to lose but more sleep and my curiosity is stronger than my exhaustion. "Give me a couple more hours. If you don't hear from me, send her to the office and I'll wing it from there."

 

++ Don Flack ++

 

Surprises usually aren't a good thing in this lifestyle, any cop knows that. But the curiously appealing mystery in the so-called lobby is too intriguing to ignore. At first sight, I'd had to look again to realize that the tall, slender blonde in the snappy suit was actually an attractive woman in an androgynous sort of way. 

 

"You're not the only one that's curious," Aiden suddenly speaks up beside me. "She's been here just long enough to start getting some attention."

 

"And completely doesn't give a shit that she is," I muse thoughtfully. Nothing about the unusual woman's behavior strikes me as hinky, but one can't be too careful. "I'm gonna go check this out."

 

"Sure thing," Aiden chuckles and I ignore her in favor of approaching the stranger hanging out by the elevator. Her body language is completely relaxed and her expression blandly observant. Shaggy, sun-bleached hair the color of Florida sand is styled casually away from her face, revealing a distinctive scar over her right brow. The closer I step the more I realize that the dark suit, almost black with tiny blood red pinstripes, and the elegant black trench coat-umbrella combo probably cost more than I make in a month. An electric blue bowtie and vest over a painfully white dress shirt bring out the crystal blue eyes that flick over to watch me walk over.

 

Something about those eyes makes me feel like an awkward teen approaching the most popular girl in school. "Help you out?" 

 

One corner of her expressive mouth, painted a subtle rose, curls just a bit. "I'm just waiting for someone, thank you." 

 

"Oh yeah? This can't be the most comfortable place to wait," I find myself rambling like a complete idiot, something about her flustering the hell outta me.

 

"Oh, I'm okay, detective. Unless I shouldn't be here? I wasn't certain where else I could wait without going near the labs, which I know is a no-no."

 

Thank whatever gods are watching that someone comes to my rescue.

 

++ Sheldon Hawkes ++

 

"Agent Bogart?"

 

The startled note in my voice is not at all feigned. Completely out of context and dressed for a gentleman's night on the town, I would have walked right past her if I hadn't heard her speak.

 

"Doctor Hawkes, what a pleasure to see you again," the striking FBI agent grins and offers a hand, dressed in an immaculate white cloth glove of all things. "Your colleague here was just ensuring I was comfortable and not in the way."

 

The handshake I remember from our first meeting is still firm and comfortable right through the thin glove. "I barely recognized you."

 

Chuckling throatily, Dace Bogart grins at the two of us. "No work for me this round, doc, but it's good to see you again. I see the digs have improved. Sorry for the confusion, detective. In my work life I'm a special agent with the FBI that travels around to help with law enforcement cases that can benefit from some special skills I have."

 

"Oh yeah?" Flack asks, but another voice interrupts the brief conversation.

 

"Special skills? Do tell," queries Mac as he strides out of the labs, stripping off his lab coat. 

 

"I'll hazard a guess that the good doctor would relish passing the tale on himself," Dace chortles and I realize that the boss has subtly warned us to get back to work. I'm still too new to pick up on some of his hints, but I got this one.

 

"Sure, when I have some time, I'll catch you up, Don. In the meantime, it was good to see you again."

 

"Likewise, doc."

 

Back into the fray…

 

++ Mac ++

 

"Come into my office and sit down. You can talk to me while I do paperwork," I tell Dace, who follows me with a smile.

 

"Sorry to distract your staff. I suppose I really should have waited somewhere else."

 

"Normally, that's exactly what you would have been doing, but you have the credentials to be made an exception."

 

"Thank you, detective."

 

"Just call me Mac. So I didn't put two and two together until I did a quick search into you this afternoon."

 

Halfway into her seat, Dace pauses and blinks at me, nonplussed. "Search?"

 

"Yeah, something about you rang a bell," I emphasize my point by staring meaningfully at the scar above her right eye.

 

"Snake-Eyes," she intones flatly, haunted memories ghosting over her expressive face as she sinks into the chair.

 

"I was one of the CSIs on the New York hit. When I randomly checked in on that case, I couldn't resist looking into the larger story. Your name has changed."

 

"Was married back then."

 

I feel badly for making her uncomfortable, the blue eyes distant, her thumb idly stroking the scar on her temple, the tattooed right arm cradled close to her body. After a few moments, she takes a deep breath and once more meets my eyes.

 

"Hope I get a chance to meet your Catherine for real someday," I can't resist smiling, relieved when she quirks a grin back.

 

"She's something else, that's for sure."

 

++ Dace ++

 

The reminder of the maddened Sentinel that nearly killed me had completely taken me off guard. As the years pass, the visceral power of the memories has faded, but sometimes…

 

Sometimes, the power of that crazed crimson gaze leaves me in a cold sweat.

 

Luckily, Mac is oddly sweet about giving me a calm moment to gather my wits, stroking the scar on my head and flexing the permanently damaged muscles of my right forearm to ground myself in the here and now.

 

"Glad to see you're okay," Mac says gently, reminding me of his presence. 

 

"Me too."

 

Some minutes pass in a surprisingly comfortable quiet as the man busies himself with the paperwork scattered across his desk and I brood. It leaves me in the strange position of not knowing what to do or say next.

 

Once again, Mac bails me out.

 

"King of Hearts, hmm?"

 

And, once again, he startles me. "You're a sly dog, Taylor," I tease wryly, "keeping me off guard. I'm in town, along with the other face cards, for our quarterly corporate meeting. The King of Spades, Queen of Clubs and the Red Joker volunteered me for this."

 

"Looking forward to it?" There's amusement in his tone, but a subtle warning too. Stella means something important to him.

 

"Absolutely."

 

++ Stella ++

 

Dog tired, I drag my sorry ass out of the elevator in Danny's wake, both of us laden down with the products of our labors. I'm firmly in that twilight state where I have been pushing myself so hard for so many hours that sleep or even relaxation is many hours away.

 

Lucky for me, I won't have to unwind alone.

 

Over the last few hours I had pretty well forgotten my plans with the mysterious Dace. But the head of pale blonde hair in Mac's office can only be her. Even as I stare, Mac laughs at something before meeting my eye. Sure enough, the blonde glances over a shoulder and is revealed to be Michael's friend that I met so briefly. 

 

With a word, Mac exits his office and approaches with a faint smile. "I'll take over, Stella."

 

"But…"

 

"Don't worry about it. Danny can catch me up on the details, right Danny?"

 

"Yeah, sure thing boss," my younger colleague agrees readily, forcing himself not to stare curiously at the well-dressed stranger in Mac's office.

 

"Go on," Mac smirks as Danny moves off. "You enjoy yourself tonight."

 

Normally, I would at least have a smart-aleck quip, but I find myself standing in place as Mac steals my evidence and vanishes into the labs. There are some second thoughts, some psychological internal affairs, some alarms and whistles sounding off in my head.

 

When I had agreed to this, it seemed like a simple thing. Hang out with a stranger my new pals spoke so highly of. The fact of Dace's femaleness I shrugged off as unimportant. But is it really?

 

Head reeling, I retreat to regroup.

 

++ Mac ++

 

We're all exhausted, but pushing ourselves to our limits to get everything processed and analyzed. For the next couple of days, I don’t care if the mayor, the president or God himself calls, my staff will have some time off. 

 

Glancing up, Danny suddenly straightens up and wolf-whistles, "hubba hubba! Don't you clean up fancy."

 

Sure enough, Stella is at the entrance to the lab, flashing a wan smile at Danny as she fumbles with an earring. I've known Stella for many years and I understand that she likes to dress up and she looks fabulous when she does. Even a bit frazzled the way she is now.

 

"Hang on, hang on," I soothe her, stripping off the gloves and stepping over to help. Taking the errant earring, I push away shower-damp curls to gently thread the gold hook through a dainty earlobe. 

 

"Thank you, Mac," she sighs and I discreetly push her into the hallway and allow the door to close for some relative privacy.

 

"You good?" For a moment, the familiar green gaze levels at me and I can clearly see the conflict there. "Buck up, Stella, it's just a casual date."

 

To try for a smile, I step back and trail my gaze critically over her lanky frame, returning to the top to find a sardonic smirk.

 

"Do I pass inspection?"

 

Boldly, I reach out and tug the lower hem of her dress straight before stepping back. As hoped, she laughs and poses for a moment, making me smile. "Now you do. Get out of here and have fun."

 

Her chuckle warms me as she does as ordered. 

 

++ Dace ++

 

Some well-honed sixth sense about women brings me to my feet just as Stella approaches the office doors. Damn…

 

"You look lovely," I tell her honestly, charmingly taken aback by the transformation from work to play.

 

Nonplussed, Stella looks at me oddly for a moment before grinning almost shyly. "Thank you. That's a beautiful suit."

 

"I'll be certain to thank my tailor for attire that works for both work and play."

 

She chuckles as I grab my coat and umbrella before offering her a gallant arm. The dress is borderline slinky, highlighting her curves in silky midnight blue. The color brings out the various shades of her magnificent curls, pulled back in a stylishly messy bun. High heels bring her height a bit closer to mine, despite my familiar old fetish boots. 

 

"Hungry?" I ask casually as we wait for the elevator. The tension in her frame is small, but very distinct. Bet she's feeling the eyes of this familiar place on her, the way our bodies touch, no matter how casually. 

 

"Starved, actually. Work, you know."

 

"Oh quite. Being a public servant always takes precedent over everything else." There's a hint of temper in her green eyes when I glance over as the elevator car arrives. "I was an inspector in San Francisco for ten years."

 

"I thought you seemed more like a cop and less like a fed," she nods, her expression pleased at my confession, making me huff in amusement.

 

"Becoming a fed was a necessity."

 

++ Stella ++

 

"A necessity?"

 

My prodding question earns me a look that makes me think she just might not want to talk about it. "I could tell you, but it would be shop talk and you look like work is the last thing you want to be thinking about. Suffice it to say that I can't fire a gun anymore."

 

It's an astute observation and I file that information in my growing mental drawer about her. Groaning softly, I try to shake out the stiffness in my muscles and get the blood flowing. "So Michael and Karen hinted that you run the Las Vegas branch of the family business?"

 

That gets a smile that curls up the corner of her mouth and the pretty blue eyes match the happy expression. "Of a sort. I was a bit of the black sheep of the family for a good long time, but managed to earn my way back into the fold. My original mentor and I had a falling out, but I've been taken on by Karen's old mentor."

 

The elevator slides to a halt and we stride out together, my hand still on her arm, her longer legs matching my stride perfectly. "Is that how you ended up in Las Vegas?"

 

"Not exactly. I had to follow my heart there and the rest just fell into place."

 

"Did the following the heart thing work out?"

 

This is a different smile, a soft, adoring expression that makes me wish I had someone to look at me like that. "Yes," Dace says simply and eyes me strangely when I use my hand on her arm to jerk to a halt.

 

"Then why are you here?"

 

Nonplussed, Dace gazes steadily at me for a moment before smiling gently. "Because you're interesting." Then she shrugs, the smile gone mischievous. "And Mike and my sis have damn good taste in women."

 

++ Dace ++

 

Seriously, I'm going to slap Fen and Bane stupid for not talking things out more clearly with this woman. Why they've left this potential psychological minefield to me isn't fair. 

 

After all, this date wasn't my idea.

 

Now, I certainly have no objections to a classy night out on the town with a gorgeous babe on my arm, but I'd like all parties to know the stakes. Or lack thereof. 

 

As I hail a taxi, I jostle Stella's hand against my side. "Relax, pretty lady. I'm here to ensure that you have a wonderful time tonight. Nothing more. Doesn't everyone want to be spoiled on occasion?"

 

Stella makes a non-comitial sound, but relaxes a bit at my side. We're lucky right now; the rain is staying high in the gathered clouds above, but it won't last. Soon there will be more water on the soaked ground, I can smell it. When a cab finally notices my wave, I pull us both away from the splash before gallantly handing my lady inside and joining her. 

 

"Head north while I find the address," I rattle off at the cabbie, extracting my company phone and flipping it open. Thankfully, over the years Michael has managed to engineer the damn thing to not be quite so bulky. As I call up the message from my pal, I'm also grateful for the ease of use of this newer model. So I recite the address given to me and relax back against the nagahide seat.

 

"So, where are we going?"

 

"Truthfully, I have no idea. Michael has some chef friend with a tiny little place she says will knock our socks off."

 

"Do you get volunteered for this sort of thing very often?"

 

I can't help but chuckle at the question, delivered in that almost challenging way that somehow reminds me of Fawn. "That depends on what you mean by often." Her expression is mildly annoyed in the flickering streetlamps, further deepening my amusement. 

 

++ Stella ++

 

This enigma is a complex tapestry of traits, some childlike, some very grownup. Even the distinct amusement at all of this, however well hidden, is strangely charismatic. Perhaps it's my inability to figure her out that is aggravating me. That and my lack of control over this situation and all that it might entail.

 

If this were a charismatic man in the seat beside me, I know that I would thoroughly charmed and not asking tough questions of myself. 

 

"Sometimes, our old circle of friends know better than to keep potential subtext in our own backyards," Dace finally speaks up and my expression must reflect some of my puzzlement at her exact meaning. "Michael likes you and doesn't want this experiment to interfere with that building friendship. Since I've only just met you and don't live anywhere near here, there's really not much to lose if you decide this sucks."

 

The self-depreciating tone makes me smile. 

 

"Yer stop," the cabbie drawls in a rough Bronx accent and Dace produces a few bills from nowhere and hops out before reaching in to offer me a gallant hand. The silky soft cotton gloves are an interesting tactile sensation, particularly for someone that spends so much time in latex. 

 

The thought suddenly occurs that she just might have done that on purpose. The seemingly perpetual smirk dances at the corners of the blue eyes and I file away yet another snippet of the puzzle.

 

Then the surroundings register and I can't control the skepticism from my tone. "You brought me here?"

 

"Hey, if Fen, I mean Michael says it's here, then it's here. Ah, that's what we're looking for."

 

Until we're nearly at the door, I swear the woman's out of her mind, headed for a brownstone nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the questionable neighborhood. 

 

"Just one more adventure, huh?"

 

++ Dace ++

 

Boy was Stella right about an adventure. I've eaten several things tonight that I can't even identify. Chef Karl is so damn good with questions and guesses and some crazy gastronomical genius that we've both been very impressed. There's been sake and seafood and some sort of mysterious red meat and a wild array of vegetation.

 

"God, I'm stuffed," Stella laments, knocking back the last of her delicate glass of sake and standing. "I'm off the ladies' room." Then she brushes a light kiss over my cheekbone and totters off.

 

"Perhaps sake was not the best choice," Karl the charismatic and quietly manic chef says in his thick German accent. "Though, you may get lucky, King of Hearts."

 

"Dog," I fire back blandly and sip at my own cup. His soft chuckle heralds the return of the exotic and adorable little waitress who's been an outrageous flirt all night. On a different night, I might have played her game, but tonight it's a distraction. 

 

"Can I…" before the girl, I think her brass nameplate says 'Mandy' can finish the sentence, there's a powerful presence at my back. Since I recognize her scent, I don't even turn around, hiding my grin behind my cup.

 

"We're good, honey," Stella shoots the pretty thing down with a witheringly cool tone. All I can do is shrug helplessly at Mandy as she slinks away.

 

"Firecracker," I openly admire my date and she glowers at me for a moment before dissolving into delighted, feminine giggling. Grabbing her little purse, Stella wanders off again, still cracking herself up.

 

"Got your hands full with that one," Karl comments and I fully agree.

 

++ Stella ++

 

It's got to be the sake, seriously. The cool night wraps around me as I step out, once more on Dace's arm. The giggling has made me lightheaded, the hilarity of shooing off that persistent fly of a waitress lingering as much as the rice liquor.

 

Chuckling along with my hilarity, Dace snaps open her umbrella to protect us from the rain and we stride into the night. Despite the iffy neighborhood, I feel little wariness and just go with it. Over dinner we chatted about bits and pieces of ourselves and the city around us. It's been damn nice to have no pressures from my company and that's adding to the bubble of happy ease I'm in.

 

"So, giggle monster, where to now?"

 

The giggling is exhausting and I do my best to swallow it and wrap my fuzzy mind around the question. Dace's body is slender but steady where I lean into her, not to mention warm beneath the coat.

 

"Dancing?" I ask hopefully, delighted that I get a warm smile. I don't know how I know, but Dace is holding back around me and I like seeing the glimpses of her beneath the self-control. 

 

"Ah, but see, you still have to choose. I know pretty much any classical dance you can name."

 

Squeaking in surprise, I find myself expertly whirled into a classic dance pose, her left hand warm on my back, the umbrella cradled in our right hands. With that liquid ease, she hums a slightly disjointed tune, turning me right there on the sidewalk in an easy waltz. The giggling is tickling my throat again.

 

"Not that one? How about something a little more upbeat?"

 

By the time she works up to a whirling salsa that has rain spattered over both of us, I'm laughing so hard I've got tears in my eyes.

 

++ Dace ++

 

In all honesty, I really wasn't expecting much from tonight. The woman seemed a little prickly and confrontational and good looks do not a fun evening make. Boy was I wrong! In addition to the sharp mind and wit to be expected from someone of her career and status, there is a truly fun woman that has come out to play. Still giggling weakly to herself, Stella sags against my larger body, matching me stride for dawdling stride.

 

"So, rumor has it that you are a person of some prominence," she asks slyly and I shrug.

 

"Well now, pretty lady, that depends on why you're asking."

 

With practiced efficiency, I have whipped out my King of Hearts ID card, negligently held between index and middle fingers. Knowing that the curious investigator at my side will want to, I hand it over to be examined. 

 

"I found Michael's after the fight at Yankee Stadium," Stella muses, stroking her fingers over the gemstone insets on the gold surface. "Guess that's what started all of this, hmm?"

 

"There are only eight of those in existence. One for each face card. Mine differs from the Queen of Hearts by the narrow band of white gold around the large heart. And, yes, those are sensor pads. There are only four people who can activate that card. Otherwise it's just a really weird piece of bling."

 

Scoffing, Stella hands it back and grins up at me. "So you have the golden key to just about anything, hmm?"

 

"Again, pretty lady, that depends on why you're asking."

 

Her evil grin should be warning, but I always have been a bit of a sucker for a pretty girl.

 

Really, I should pay closer attention.

 

++ Stella ++

 

If I get a chance someday, I will really have to explore Dace's dancing skills, but right now, I need something less… civilized. High and more than a little drunk on exhaustion and sake, my natural mental defenses are fuzzy and easily broached. So I drag my unprotesting companion to a cab and rattle off the name of a club I've heard several people drool over. 

 

It's time to dance.

 

Fusion is some sort of converted industrial building covered in neon of every style from Japan to Madagascar to Aztec to the swamps of the bayou. The hip and photogenic are lined up four deep, vying for position and privilege.

 

Maybe this isn't such a good idea after all.

 

But, before I can start questioning, Dace bundles me from the cab and moves to speak with one of the gorilla-like bouncers. Over the noise, I can't make out what's said, but the man's expression goes from shock to a pleased grin and we're swept past the barrier of the red velvet rope. 

 

Guess it really is the golden key after all!

 

Like any dance club, the place is hot and sweltering, packed with jostling bodies. The music is a deafening pulse that immediately forces my heart to keep pace, whether I like it or not! 

 

"Give me your purse Stella," Dace calls near my ear, making me look oddly at her. "For safekeeping. I have deep pockets and I'm really sensitive about keeping track of what's in them."

 

It's a little purse, sure, but Dace wraps the spaghetti strap around the body and it vanishes into the depths of her pants pocket. Then she flashes me a smile I haven't seen before. There's something teasing and a little feral and very naughty in that expression. Handing off our coats and her umbrella and suit jacket to the coat check and getting a tag in turn, she holds my eyes with that enticing look. Then she's crowding my body towards the writhing mass of humanity in the thundering, flashing chaos that is Fusion.

 

++ Dace ++

 

There's no damn point in trying to speak in this sensory fog. I've got every sense dialed in as tight as they can go, anchoring them in the smell and sight and feel of this new companion. Over the years I've grown very adept at the trick, even teaching it to Emily and hoping that my girls will get it someday.

 

It's hugely amusing to me that Stella is getting undeniably turned on. I know this conflict between brain and body well, having seen it play out again and again and again. So far she's been damn open-minded and really easygoing.

 

Time to push the envelope a bit, then!

 

Typical of our species, there's a lull of self-consciousness in letting go. But the music is remorseless, beating at her body until she softens and begins to move with it. For a bit I allow her some physical space, as much as one can in this meat market, before sliding in closer.

 

Again, that lull of self-consciousness, and again, the music and the mood pushes away her brain's reluctance. So close to her lanky, curvaceous body that I can feel the pressure though our layers of clothing, I place my hands on her hips, gentle and protective. There is no lust in my touch, only a plea for trust.

 

So much is allowed at these sorts of places; in the pulse of music and flickering lights, everything carnal plays out if you know where to find it. As Stella relaxes further against my larger body, the spell of the place cloaks her rationale more and more. Supple and sexy, she moves with me in a dance reminiscent of things far more carnal than this!

 

I can't deny the charge of triumph when her arms coil up to plunge her fingers in my ragged mane. Keeping her back to my front is deliberate, eliminating many of the physical temptations of her and allowing me to think at least a little bit.

 

It is not my place to take advantage of her; nor would I. This night is about allowing this one woman a freedom from expectations both from without as well as within.

 

And having some good fun doing it!

 

++ Stella ++

 

I don't trust easily. I'm not wired for it. Not from my past, not from my job. Yet, here I am.

 

Open and trusting, my body is relaxed in Dace's gentle hold. There's something about her, the mama cat energy that flows off her in waves. She can be a purring pussycat one moment and a threatening predator the next, and that spectrum keeps both her and those in her care safe from harm.

 

So, despite some white noise from my sharply honed protective instincts, I am in her thrall for now. It's like a trip to the spa for my psyche. Perception shifts, my upper brain lulled to quiet, taking away my sense of time and place. 

 

It is a profound experience. 

 

But awareness or no, time marches on and eventually comes crashing back when Dace growls. Not human-growls either, but a low rumble that one might hear in the darkness of jungle or forest when a great cat hunts. Instantly, I'm snapped back to myself, warily watching the drunkenly persistent frat boy that appears to be stupidly intent on busting in on our private party. 

 

When he actually has the gall to place a hand on me, reflex takes over and he howls over the thundering music as he finds himself on his knees. It's an old chokehold, his hand yanked up between his shoulderblades, my fingers gripping the sensitive webbing between thumb and forefinger. 

 

"You're damn lucky I don't have my cuffs, asshole," I snarl into his ear. "Trust me that it would not be an experience you would enjoy."

 

Only after shoving him away do I realize how exhausted I am, wet with sweat and near trembling. Adrenaline draining away, I once more face my date, trying to read the unfathomable look on her face. 

 

Understandably, I don't argue being bustled out of the club. 

 

++ Dace ++

 

The worries I harbored for Stella's mood evaporate as we emerge into the cool night. Then she chuckles and reaches above her head to stretch like a cat. "Idiot," she comments either ignoring or ignorant of my admiring once-over at the athletic display. "Hope he thinks twice before annoying another girl."

 

"One can hope," I agree. "Are you ready to call it a night?"

 

Honestly, I'm surprised by her teasing smile, despite the vertical foreplay in the club. "Are you trying to get rid of me, Bogart?"

 

Raising placating hands, I return the happy expression, "Not at all."

 

Like magic, her phone rings and I quickly yank her purse out of my pocket to hand it over. 

 

"Bonasera," she fires off, businesslike, but her expression immediately softens as she listens. "No, Danny, I cannot come drinking with you guys. I have company."

 

Normally, I would never eavesdrop, but since this concerns me too, I dial my hearing up enough to make out the male voice in the tiny speaker of Stella's cell phone.

 

"What, like a date? That skinny blonde guy in Mac's office? Bring 'im along. We won't bite."

 

Once again, I'm taken aback and completely amused at the teasing grin Stella flashes at me. "You won't bite, but I make no promises on this end. Give us twenty."

 

"Sure thing," this Danny laughs on the phone as I blink in surprise at the blatant innuendo. "We're at the usual spot. Later."

 

"Bye." Still amused and teasing, Stella looks almost coyly at me and I'm charmed by this mercurial creature. "Sorry to volunteer you. No hard feelings if you'd rather get back to your family."

 

How cute! She's concerned about me meeting her friends. No indication that she's concerned about gender issue at all. Fen definitely scored in befriending this one.

 

"Are you kidding? I can't wait to see the look on this Danny's face."

 

++ Stella ++

 

It's official.

 

I've lost my mind.

 

As the cab approaches the bar, I eye the meter and flash Dace a warning look. "I have this one. Since this was my idea and all."

 

Bemused, she smiles softly and doesn't fight me, hopping out as I pay the cabbie. The umbrella is waiting for me, keeping off the hissing rain. Now, to walk inside…

 

This is no big deal, right? Just a fun evening with a new friend, no pressure, so expectations. Except… that there is a hinky feeling rumbling in the back of my psyche. It's uncomfortably like the feeling I get when I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I'm missing something. Normally, that sensation would make me push harder, dig deeper. Now?

 

Now it just scares me.

 

Shaking it off, I curl my hand around Dace's arm where it's spent much of tonight, enjoying the underlying heat of her body. There's something very comforting in that visceral connection and I smile far more bravely than I really feel. "So, come meet the gang."

 

It takes effort to ignore the gentle understanding in her blue eyes.

 

Tommy's is the usual smoky ambiance, voices murmuring over the strains of Styx's 'Show Me the Way'. The place hasn't changed since I was in a uniform, looking more like a sleazy biker bar then a cop hangout. It's surprisingly slow tonight and I can clearly hear my party's noise towards the back where we usually are. 

 

Both Don and Hawkes have joined us this evening, their gazes joining the gaggle of stares coming my way. "Hey guys," I greet them cheerfully, suddenly very aware of my hand curled around Dace's arm. "Umm, this is Dace Bogart."

 

It's immediately apparent that she's met everyone but Danny, who gawks for a moment but is quickly a perfect gentleman, shaking her offered hand and introducing himself. All of the sudden, I'm at a loss of what to do and Mac bails me out, asking what we'd like to drink. Feeling the need for a bit harder hitting liquid courage, I order an import rather than my usual. After introducing herself to Dace, Aiden eyes me speculatively and I can only smile a bit weakly. Chairs have been yanked over and conversations shift and flow to include us.

 

It's a bit of a surprise to hear that Dace has worked as an FBI agent right here in Manhattan and with Hawkes no less. I get pulled into that tale, smiling gratefully at Mac when he hands me an icy bottle to soothe my nerves. 

 

++ Dace ++

 

They dragged more information out of me than I would normally release. No shock there; I'm a sucker for CSIs after all! The whole gang of them is great and I will happily come back and hang out with them any time they ask.

 

I was up early for me today and I can feel the fatigue at the edges of my mind. In that universal brain that experienced cops seem to get, we all start to move as one entity, gathering up coats and settling tabs. Unlike our arrival here, Stella seems completely relaxed again, not flinching when I gallantly hold open her damp coat for her to slip into. It's such a 'date' thing to do that the others would have to be brain dead not to be even more curious. In a garble of voices, we're on the curb and waving down cabs to get everyone back to their homes. 

 

Stella is both touchy-feely with her coworkers and standoffish. There is an invisible line none of them cross, keeping some small zone of professionalism that's difficult in such a tough job. Once in the cab, Stella gives me a friendly shoulder-butt, her eyes and smile facing forward. "Charmer," she comments dryly and I have to laugh.

 

"Hey, I like CSIs, remember? Though you all get me to confess way too much about myself."

 

Immediately, she starts giggling. "The look on Danny's face when you told him you're the King of Hearts. God, I thought he was going to choke!"

 

We laugh together over that one and Stella surprises me again by leaning her head on my shoulder, clearly wiped out. I let her doze in and out as the cab moves quietly through the New York night. She is a reflection of her city, warm and cool, hard angles coupled with a distinctive softness, wariness coupled with a drive to succeed that lets nothing stand in her way.

 

No, this strange evening will not play out like my last playdate in this city, I can't help but grin naughtily at memories of Lee, but all in all I'm quite pleased by my experience.

 

As Stella makes a sleepy sound and shifts closer, both hands curling around my scarred right arm, I'm quite glad to have made this new friend.

 

++ Stella ++

 

It's habit to come awake abruptly, blinking back to awareness. Dace's soothing me down takes a moment to register before I yawn and make her chuckle lowly. "Come on, sleepyhead. I'll walk you to your door."

 

Wearily compliant, I follow her out, rotating the small kinks out of my neck before leading her inside. "I had a great time," I confess easily as we stride down the halls of my familiar building. 

 

"Honestly, so did I."

 

Then… we're at my door and the protocol of the immediate proceedings gets muddy all over again. Unlocking the bolt, I pause and turn and take a good, long look at this unusual woman. She is a striking figure, even a bit disheveled and now smelling of smoke and rain. Once again, she saves me from my confusion, reaching out to take my right hand, pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles. 

 

"Sleep well, pretty lady. Maybe we'll meet again someday, hmm?"

 

When she turns to leave, I have a split second to do something, anything.

 

Hard to say who is more surprised when I lash out to grab the lapel of her dress jacket. As she turns to face me, curiosity written all over her features, I take a steadying breath and dive in. "Come on, that was no kiss goodnight."

 

Her lips are warm and soft, exactly as I'd expected. It's a closed-mouth kiss, platonic and curious. Only a few inches away, I open my eyes and look into the sapphire gaze of my date, suddenly impossibly grateful to see not just the warm emotions I've grown used to this evening, but a hot little flame of arousal too. That want gives me the courage to lean in again.

 

This time to kiss her for real.

 

I'm no saint and I do have a decent log of lovers to compare techniques to, and she's good. Warm and attentive to this new interaction, she kisses me like I mean something, like I'm worth the trouble of adapting her technique for. 

 

By the time I lean away from the wet heat of her mouth, I'm completely bamboozled by the way I feel. There's no denying how hot and flushed I feel, half ready to drag her into my apartment and find out just how damn brave I really can be. 

 

Dace places a single, gloved finger over my lips and smiles so sweetly I know I'll never forget that look. "Sleep well," she whispers, slowly stepping away.

 

With a last, loaded meeting of our eyes, she quietly walks away, leaving me to murmur a simple, "goodnight."

 

And I am alone with my heat and my questions.

 

THE END?


End file.
